Azure
by Faecat
Summary: Behind Blue Eyes has inspired yet another introspective songfic.  Looking into the lives of some of our favorite Autobots and finding that they have some rather intense secrets held within their sparks.


Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Transformers. I do not own _Behind Blue Eyes_ by The Who.

This is a songfic inspired by anasazidarkmoon. I...take all the blame for the strangeness that follows, sorry it turned out so dark. -_-;; It seems I cannot escape the darkness. At any rate! I'm pretty pleased with some of the thoughts that came out in this fic, and likely a story shall be spawned with these, or similar, ideas! Woot! (Thanx Sazi for the idea! and for the bunnies too...)

Up next: Songfic for one of the 'Significance' winners!

* * *

**Azure**

_~No one knows what it's like~_

Optimus stood before the gathered members of his faction, just looking over them, wondering how many of them he would never see again. How many would be broken, offlined, lost, or – though he hated to think of it – turn on their friends and comrades for the other faction?

Even worse was to think how many before him were pledging a false loyalty – how many were spies?

He looked over them all and thought so many horrible thoughts of them that he simply could not show. If he let them know how sure he was that many of them would be saying their last good-byes right this moment, they would likely change their minds and choose not to fight for his cause.

His cause.

He claimed to be fighting for Cybertron, for all sentient beings – which he was- but it always came to one very simple thing; his cause against Megatron's. There really was very little that separated the two faction leaders when the base facts were looked at:

They both wanted what they thought was best.

They both appealed to specific aspects of those that would follow them.

They both pitted friends, families, cities – a whole world! – against each other knowing many of them would die, and they let it happen anyway.

_~To be the bad man~_

"It was a good idea, Optimus. No one could have known it would end that way." The femme spoke softly, comfortingly, but was easily silenced by the haunted look in Optimus's optics. "You can't blame yourself for everything," she tried again to banish the guilt weighing down on her leader's processor and spark.

"I knew this would be the outcome," the Autobot leader finally admitted. "I knew, without any doubt that _this_ would be what happened. I sent them knowingly to their deaths." He turned away from the femme. Her shock was just too much for his already guilt laden spark. "I will do it again," he stated firmly. "Others will suffer the same fate because I will send them to it. It will end the same every time, but that matters little to them because they do not know they cannot succeed."

_~To be the sad man~_

He walked the barren lands. These had once been beautiful places of grandeur; now they were reduced to nothing but rusted, twisted metal and shattered crystals. What had become of their world? Of the beauty they had once possessed? Where had their race's innocence gone?

This was one of the few moments he had for himself – when he slipped away unnoticed by his recovering subordinates. This was when he could think, when he could be alone with his burdens.

Megatron had appealed to his sensibilities more than once – told him that they could work together and end all this destruction. It was true. If they could simply agree to work in tandem, they could solve the problems of their world and create a place where all could live. That was it; they would live but they would never be happy.

Those that followed him; that followed his cause, his ideals, believed that what Megatron wanted was wrong. They believed that because Optimus had convinced them that it was. It was clear to see that those that followed Megatron were of the same persuasion for his purposes as well. So to take the two factions and make them work together would be to put peoples of violently deferent minds together and expect peace to hold. It was too late for that to work. They had torn apart their peoples far too much to patch them back together again. One cause had to win over the other for there to ever be any semblance of peace again – and even then it would be an uncomfortable peace. "What have we done, brother?"

~Behind blue eyes~

…

~No one knows what it's like~

Ignoring the jeers, the glares, and the anger that washed over him from his supposed 'comrades', Sunstreaker pushed through the crowded halls. He was angry. Not just on the outside, but deep down to his very core, he was angry. Again he had found himself at the mercy of his vanity – he had claimed he wouldn't help Bluestreak with his tasks because it would scratch his paint. He didn't care about his paint. He had never cared about his paint.

Now Bluestreak was hurt, pretty badly, because he had stubbornly left the smaller mech to deal with the shipment of new supplies on his own. What was worse was that he had done it on purpose. He had known that the load was far too large for the small 'bot to handle on his own, but he had done it anyway. He didn't want bad things to happen to anyone…but they had to. They had to happen to someone.

"He's not going," he stated simply as he pushed through the doors leading to a quiet little office. An office that wasn't used very often at all by anyone, yet Sunstreaker felt he saw its walls far more often than he liked.

"Are you sure this time?" A tired, troubled voice asked.

"He's in the med bay."

"How bad?"

"He's not going." That's all the 'bot needed to know – the mission was complete, the goal reached. Bluestreak wouldn't be sent on any one mech missions of doom anytime soon.

"Thank you Sunny…"

"Don't call me that." Slamming the door he had never released behind him, Sunstreaker stormed away. He paused for one moment at the point the hall he was in crossed with the hall that lead to the med bay. He wanted to check on the younger mech, wanted to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be, all things considered…but Bluestreak would be mad at him, and that was the way it was supposed to be. 'Be mad at me; forget what truly hurts inside…'

~To be hated~

There were rolls to be played in life, and he knew his better than anyone else could ever know theirs. He would be there to be the focus of their disapproval, of their discomfort, and their venting. He would drive them to the brink of their tempers so that they would be mad at him, so they would take out their built up frustrations on him instead of at each other. This was his roll and he knew it.

He had taken it on unknowingly when his brother had been hurting inside, but wouldn't share. Sunstreaker pushed and pushed at his twin's buttons until the other had exploded. Afterwards Sideswipe had been more himself than he had in a long time, and the only thing hurt was Sunstreaker's feelings – he could live with that. He could take his hurt out physically, he could fight – he _liked_ to fight; not like Sideswipe who didn't get any real enjoyment out of battle.

Now, among the Autobots, he did the same. He pushed at them; he made them angry, made them hate him, made them take their anger out on him…he lied just the right lies in just the right places to lead them to venues for whatever they needed to let out. It almost always worked. And when mechs like Bluestreak became too emotionally compromised to do their jobs properly, but could not be removed from duty rightfully by any medical means…he took care of that too.

~To be fated~

"Sunstreaker! How could you?" The anger…

"How could I what?" He knew exactly what the mech was asking. He knew without doubt, and he knew that the mech would want answers. He wouldn't get them, but he wanted them.

"You know what I'm talking about!" The frustration…

"I didn't do anything," and that had been the point.

Sunstreaker can't honestly say he was surprised by the fist that slammed into his helm. He couldn't say that he hadn't expected to be lying on his face on the floor a good fifteen breems later when the mech had left him, finally. The outlet…

"Sunstreaker, are you all right?" Sunstreaker knew the medic's voice well enough by now to know his question expected no answer.

"I'm fine."

~To telling only lies~

…

~But my dreams~

~They aren't as empty~

Sometimes there were secrets. Sometimes the secrets were so great, so imposing that any single 'bot could be completely changed by the weight of it. Sideswipe saw it everywhere he went. He saw it in their leader; Optimus Prime, he saw it in his brother; Sunstreaker, he had seen it tear apart Gears; turning him into the pessimistic mech he was today, and he saw the way it governed almost every move Prowl ever made. It never ceased to amaze him how such things could change a being.

He had secrets too, but they weren't nearly as bad as any of the others. At least he didn't think they were. He hated to think about them, honestly. He preferred to just forget about them and move on to the next thing in his life. How else was he supposed to survive the war? Especially with a twin like Sunstreaker – a mech that had been changed by deeper secrets than Sideswipe cared to think of.

Lying out under the sky like this, as hidden away as he could get among the structures of broken Cybertron as he could be, he liked to imagine that things were not so complicated. That the war was nothing more than a game they all played and that once it was over, everyone would get back up, have a good laugh, and they would play something else. Sunstreaker said he was childish, but he didn't care; it made everything easier.

If only it could always be this way. However, as he watched bright lights streak across the sky he knew that this was one of the moments that the games he played had to be abandoned for the truth of what he was really trapped in. This was war.

The explosions punctuated the truth with incontestable remarks.

~As my conscious seems to be~

Rushing to the frontline was second nature to him. That was where he belonged; there were no secrets on the frontline, only fighting, pain, and death. It was the ultimate truth.

The deafening roar of energy charges from various types of weapons being rained down on both sides was something like a show for him. Like sky lights; they went off, blew up, lit up the world for an instant, and then faded away. It really was beautiful if he thought about it. Though this was not the time for thinking, this was time for action.

Sideswipe threw himself into the battle without restraint, his brother at his side.

"Six!" He declared as another Decepticon fell beneath him. "How many you got, Sunny?"

"This is not the time," his twin growled, though the faint glint in his eye said that he was beating his brother by a fair number. The tiny smirk that only Sideswipe would ever notice was confirmation.

"Seriously?" He almost laughed. Sunstreaker usually beat him at the numbers game.

~I have hours~

~Only lonely~

Vorns passed, wearing down at Sideswipe's ability to see it all as just a game. He spent less time envisioning all of the fallen standing up and declaring 'game over', and more time seeing the truth around him. How the war was destroying them all. Mostly it was the way he watched his brother being beat down.

During the off cycle he would watch over his twin, he would see the pain and the hurt then; no other time was it visible. He adored his brother's will to take on what others burdened him with, he even respected that he would take the abuse they would dole on him when he finally pushed them too far. What he didn't love was the way Sunstreaker hid his true self from others, and how he hid his real feelings from himself.

Sideswipe could smile, he could have fun and enjoy life, even as twisted as it may have become for them. Sunstreaker never smiled anymore. Not really. It had been a long time since his twin had been free of spark enough for a true smile, and that was something he had vowed to return to him.

Someorn, somehow.

Maybe when the game was over…

~My love is vengeance~

~That's never free~

…

~No one knows what it's like~

Tactics. Plain, simple – tactics. He managed everything through tactics; conversation, scheduling, shipments…war. It was easy for him to look at numbers and get the answers that were there to be found. He didn't always get the answers he wanted, or needed, but he always got answers.

There were reasons Prowl focused on tactics instead of anything else. One was because somebody had to do it and he was proficient at it. Another was because the sheer amount of work that went along with it gave him viable excuses to lock himself away in his office for joors on end. It wasn't so much that he didn't like to be around the other 'bots, he actually did get lonely quite often, but he hated to be so close to them that when they didn't come back, it hurt.

Sure, he did feel bad when soldiers wouldn't return – be it from a botched mission, or just because some casualties were had, it didn't matter – he did feel a sense of failure about it, but he didn't know them much beyond the fact that they were Autobot soldiers and whatever talents they had that could be used. He didn't know their familial records, he didn't know their age, he didn't know their past or possible futures or their relations with others; not unless that factored into how he planned his strategies. For instance; he knew Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were twins. He knew they were a veritable powerhouse of death and destruction when they worked together, and he used that to his advantage.

Of course off the battle field they were nothing short of pure catastrophe, but Prowl had learned to work around that. Most of the time.

~To feel these feelings~

"Prowl…" an older mech approached him. Prowl knew him by name only – he wasn't one of the soldiers in his unit so he had little else memorized about the mech. He was medium build, medium armor, probably infantry from what Prowl could attain by the way the mech walked. "I was told to deliver a message to you from one of our spies. He was trapped behind enemy lines, has to bide some time before he can try to get back."

"Very well." Prowl waited expectantly for the message, but was instead handed a data chip.

"He said it was kind of personal…I didn't look…" The mech was nervous around him, so he obviously knew a little bit about Prowl and his intolerance for any who didn't follow orders.

Taking the chip, Prowl dismissed the mech with no further interest. He wasn't part of his unit. He was insignificant to Prowl. The data chip, however…he knew who it had come from.

~Like I do~

No one had ever seen Prowl 'angry'. They'd seen disgruntled, they'd seen displeased, miffed, unhappy, disapproving, aggravated, frustrated, and other variants of the emotion, but never _angry_.

So when the tactician dragged 'bots from their recharge berths in the middle of the off cycle, demanding they shut up and come with him, no one said anything. Not even Sunstreaker, who almost always had something to say when he was disturbed from recharge. The tactician was terrifyingly angry.

"What's goin' on, Prowl?" One brave spark finally dared to ask, only to receive the most withering glare any of them had ever seen on the tactician's face.

"It is a new mission, and it begins immediately."

Sunstreaker could see the agitation beneath Prowl's anger. He was worried, scared even. "For what?"

"Extraction."

Extraction? Prowl didn't favor rescue missions…and he had chosen some of the most violent members of their unit for this 'extraction', which lead Sideswipe to speak the next question on all of their processors. "Who?"

Prowl took a moment to control his rising emotions; violent title waves that had his processor spinning out of control. He reminded himself that if he wanted any chance at success, his team was going to have to know the plan. They needed information, and he had to give it to them. "One of our spies has been trapped behind enemy lines."

A glint of knowledge came to Sunstreaker. "That's their job, ain't it?"

Sideswipe also had a clue, though his was of another variety. "The 'Con's ain't takin' prisoners now."

"Precisely." Holding up a single data chip, Prowl explained further. "This particular spy is very important to our cause. He has garnered information that very well may change the way the war is going currently. We must recover him as soon as possible."

There were a full three kliks of silence before someone else spoke again. "Or at least his processor…" The mech would likely never speak again once Prowl walked away. The tactician left the mech writhing on the floor, trying desperately to stem the flow of energon from his now crushed vocalizor. He was not going to die, that had not been Prowl's intention, merely to make his point.

The point was clear.

"It's Jazz…" Sunstreaker grumbled, though beneath his rather subordinate tone were depths of almost unfathomable concern. That was likely the only reason the obviously violent tactician spared the front-liner. Either that, or Sunstreaker was far too valuable to his strategy to harm yet.

~And I blame you~

…

~No one bites back as hard~

When the orn was over, when everyone else had gone to their berths to recharge, that's when he would normally roam the base. He liked to make sure, just one more time; that all was as well as it could be before he turned in for the off cycle. This was also the time he would see the truth behind so many good words spoken.

There were few things that Ironhide held to anymore, but his loyalty was the one he held to the strongest. He was loyal to Optimus to a point that sometimes made others think he was blind. He wasn't blind. He knew Optimus better than any of them would ever know. He knew when their leader was a shining beacon in the darkness, and he also knew when the mech had become the darkness to envelop the beacon of their hopes.

"I'm not going to say I understand," he confessed once, "but I will believe in you." At the time he had meant it too. Though, recently, he had questioned even that.

Hearing the soft cries at night, he wondered what any of it was good for. He listened to 'bots he knew to be some of the bravest in combat he had ever seen weep of terrors only their processors knew of. He saw the ghosts in the optics of bots that were the kindest of spark he had ever known, the shadows of hate, of anger, of vengeance lurking behind their smiles. He saw all of it and he hated it.

Optimus had done this to them. It didn't matter how many times he quoted those noble phrases he was so fond of; 'For the greater good'; 'The pain of a few, for the safety of the masses'; 'Everyone has the right to choose' – especially that one – they were not lies, but neither were they honest. True, they said they fought for the greater good, but whose? Certainly not for those that fought every orn. Pain of the few was turning into the pain of all. The worst of them all was Optimus's favorite; not one being on this cursed planet had a choice anymore. They had to fight. That was all there was to it. Their only options were how they would fight, and who. Or to die; they had that choice too. Optimus's war with Megatron had brought them to this.

Still, Ironhide remained loyal to Optimus and nothing would change that. Even though he too had doubts, there was one thing he knew above all else; Optimus was the only one that could carry the fate of their world on his shoulders. Ironhide would just make sure that it stayed there.

~On their anger~

"He's leading us into death," a young femme snapped as the unit began moving. Ironhide had only heard her because he happened to be walking by at that particular moment.

Stopping beside the young femme he saw those shadows, the ones born of war, of pain and suffering. Had life been different for her, she probably would have been a very sweet and tender femme indeed, but instead, she was hard and carried a fearsome weapon with intentions of using it. "Maybe he is," he said to her, his tone disapproving of her words, even if his spark ached with the truth of it, "but realize that he is leading us, and that he will suffer the worst of all of our fates."

"He goes in first hoping that he will be offlined before he has to face the truth!" The femme roared, startling several of her teammates. Not everyone would hear this conversation, but they certainly would notice the disturbance.

"He will not be so lucky," there was a dark, evil look in Ironhide's optics – one of violent truth and the stubbornness that the mech was known for. "His fate is far worse than that; he will survive to have to face the deactivations of all that do not."

None of the 'bots that had heard the conversation were entirely sure if Ironhide's words were spoken of his dedication to protect his Prime, or if it was a threat upon the Prime's very spark. None dared ask either. Whatever it may have been, it was perfectly clear to them all that Ironhide would hear nothing of their complaints against their leader.

~None of my pain and woe~

As everything settled, Ironhide looked around to take count. They had survived, somehow – well, most of them had. Optimus stood not far away, holding up one of their comrades; the femme that had spoken up before.

Rushing to help his struggling leader, Ironhide tried to take the small femme from him so that Optimus could gain better ground, but the Prime would not let her go. It was only as Optimus fell to his knees that Ironhide realized the truth. The femme was dead.

"She knew it would come to this…" Ironhide grumbled his unfelt reassurance to his Prime. Optimus took death so hard when he had to see it happen; Pit, he took it hard even when he had no hand in it. Still, Ironhide felt that by now the mech should be used to the cost of his war.

"I know she did," Optimus offlined his optics as he lay the femme on the ground gently. "She gave her life for mine."

It hurt. It always hurt. Ironhide had no doubts that his words to the femme had been what brought her to such an act. Yet again, he had motivated someone into sacrificing their life for the Prime. That was his job. That's what he did, and would always do, because someone had to carry the fate of their world on their shoulders…and he wasn't strong enough to do it. None of them were, save the Prime.

~Can show through~

…

~But my dreams~

~They aren't as empty~

Jazz slid through the shadows easily, this was his element. He was good at this; none were his better when it came to going unnoticed. Sometimes he was just too good at it. He couldn't count how many times had he gone unnoticed as others went about their business. It didn't bother him most of the time. When he wanted attention he sure as Pit got it, but sometimes he wished he hadn't walked in on some of the conversations he had walked into. He didn't like carrying around that weight.

Being trapped behind enemy lines hadn't been the worst thing that ever happened to him – Prowl and his elite team coming after him was pretty awe inspiring actually. That of course didn't mean he liked to be there, or to be back slinking around so soon after having his aft saved. Not that he couldn't have gotten out on his own, he had a plan, but still, he hated for the gesture to go to waste.

Why was he back here again? Well, much to almost everyone's frustration, the information he had acquired had been compromised and they needed more. Prowl hadn't wanted him to go. However, he had to give his consent because Jazz was their best spy and Optimus needed information promptly.

There were certain things that if Prowl only knew about, Jazz would never be allowed beyond the walls of the Autobot's central base.

~As my conscious seems to be~

It was easy to gain access to the rooms he needed into, even easier to slip out again and vanish before anyone would have even had an inkling that he had been there. His sensors were on high, guiding him faithfully through the corridors, alerting him to even the slightest of movements around him. He knew if there was a glitchmouse creeping in the walls, if the wind outside had picked up, if the mechs in the barracks stirred. He knew it all…well, almost all of it.

Of all the things that Jazz was good at, for all his smoothness, and all his grace, his abilities to get into anything, and seemingly just as easily back out of it again – Jazz always fell victim to the 'bots that knew to stand still and wait. What didn't move didn't make sounds…and what Jazz couldn't hear, he couldn't detect.

He didn't go down like a six ton slab of slag though; Jazz had gotten very good at falling too – something he had learned early in life. If you fell 'pretty', 'bots thought you did it on purpose, or that you were slick. Still, the other mech had the upper hand because he had struck, and then quit moving. Jazz couldn't pinpoint the mech – even his systems were running silent. This was bad.

~I have hours~

~Only lonely~

"Yer information, Prime." Jazz lay the new data chip down on the Prime's desk and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Jazz. This will hopefully win us some ground in the upcoming orns."

"Ah sure hope so," he stumbled a little when his shoulder collided with the doorframe he had not quite cleared, "It was uh long walk home." He looked over his shoulder toward the Autobot leader. He didn't have to see to know the mech wore a concerned look. "Some o' muh sensors got uh lil' scrambled, that's all."

"You should go see Ratchet."

"Ah will." With one hand brushing lazily against the wall, the saboteur left the Prime's office and headed toward the med bay. There were a lot of hallways between here and there, and he'd already taken all the collisions he could handle. ::Hey, Ratch?::

::What is it, Jazz?::

::Do…do ya think ya can come get meh? Muh sensors got scrambled…::

::Don't move. I'm on my way now.::

::Thanks.::

~My love is vengeance~

~That's never free~

…

~When my fist clenches~

~Crack it open~

Optimus and Ironhide stood back to back. The culmination of all of the planning, all of the work for the past vorn had brought them here – fighting for their very sparks. There was not a move that one made that the other did not back up, they were in tune with one another.

"Is this how you planned it, Prime?" Ironhide growled as he twisted around to avoid another hit from his current opponent.

"Not exactly, no." Optimus followed Ironhide's movements, likewise avoiding his opponent. They were trapped, for all intents and purposes, but they simply had to remain online long enough for everything else that had to happen to take place. "However, if nothing else – at least these Decepticons are getting what they deserve!" His words were punctuated by a spray of energon as he sliced into his enemy with his blades, tearing the mech into several pieces.

"Can't argue with you there…" A single blast from Ironhide's cannon cleared a path before him, giving him enough time to strike out at another Decepticon with his fist before more filled in.

~Before I use it ~

~And lose my cool~

…

~When I smile~

~Tell me some bad news~

"How much longer?"

"Do ya want rush, or do ya want uh good job?"

"Both."

Prowl fired his weapon down the hallway, thankful for the narrowness the Decepticons had designed in their base. It prevented them from being able to get very far before Prowl could take them out.

Jazz worked as fast as he could. One benefit of not relying on his sight was that he was very nimble with his fingers. He could rewire a system almost as fast as the original manufacturer could assemble it in the first place, but this was a little more difficult than that. "Why'd they have ta make it so slaggin complicated?"

It wasn't so much that the devise was hard for him to get into place, it was that half of his sensors still weren't fully functional, leaving gaps in his perception of things.

"Jazz…" It was Prowl's final warning.

"Done!" Jazz slid from his spot beneath the storage tank. "Let's get outta here."

"Lead the way," Prowl demanded, a rather loud crashing noise clarifying that they would not be leaving the way they came in.

"Ha!" Jazz smiled as big as he could manage. "Ya realize there was only one way outta here, right?"

~Before I laugh~

~And act like a fool~

…

~If I swallow anything evil~

~Put your finger down my throat~

The first explosion was small, nothing more than a signal of what was to follow. The Autobot's were ordered to retreat after the first explosion, to get clear before the whole area was disintegrated. Too bad some of them were far too stubborn to pay attention.

"Sides, we gotta go!"

"Not yet! I just need a few more!"

"No, Sides, now!"

Sideswipe ignored his twin in favor of bashing another Decepticon to the ground. "Twenty-Seven! I've almost beat my high score!"

"Sideswipe! This is NOT a GAME!" Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by the arm, hoping to bring some sanity back to his fellow front-liner, but instead found himself laying flat on his back.

"Thirty-Two!" Sideswipe's voice proclaimed from some distance away. How had he gotten that far that quick? Not to mention taken down five 'Con's in such a short time?

"Sideswipe!" Pushing himself up, Sunstreaker realized something wasn't right. He felt light headed; his cooling fans were running on high and making horrible noises while they were at it. "Sides," his vocalizor wasn't working quite right either, "Sides, we gotta get outta here!"

"Forty-One!"

There was no way. Sunstreaker looked for his twin, who sounded even further away than he had a few kliks ago, only to see his twin standing high on a jutting ledge, leaning eagerly forward, a rifle perched on his shoulder. Sideswipe didn't carry a rifle…

"Don't worry about him Sunstreaker, he's…he's here with us. Sort of." The mech he saw wasn't Sideswipe at all, it was Bluestreak. "And, sorry about that…"

Sunstreaker became suddenly aware of the pain in his chest, looking down he saw a rather crude patch that was still leaking. "What happened?"

"I couldn't get you both out of there…the only way I could get Sideswipe to come, was to get you out, but," Bluestreak finally turned to look at the mech laying not too far from him, "you wouldn't leave him either."

"So, you shot me?" Now Sunstreaker was pissed. How dare the gunner _shoot_ him?

"No…I didn't shoot you, Sunstreaker." Bluestreak looked sad, like he had some dark secret weighing down on him that he just couldn't endure. "I shot Sideswipe. He shot you."

~If I shiver, please give me a blanket~

~Keep me warm, let me wear your coat~

…

~No one knows what it's like~

There were orns that weren't so bad. There were sometimes several in a row, but those were starting to become few and far between. With the war picking up like it had, Ratchet didn't even dream of orns without some travesty crossing into his hands. He faced it all with a mostly calm, sometimes aggressive attitude, but inside he was always screaming. Every time he had to put a 'bot back together just to send them back out to be torn apart again; he wanted to put down his tools and never pick them up again. What was the point of saving lives when they were just going to be abused like this?

There were orns that he was so entrenched in the gore of war that he had no time to think of any of it, and he hated to say that those were the times he loved the most – when he was just so busy that he couldn't think about how wrong all of this was, or of the fact that this mech, or this femme, likely would be back in his med bay as soon as they were able to go back out to fight again. He loved not having to deal with his conscious, or with anything that had anything to do with much beyond what wire connected where to keep that frame functional, to keep that spark from fading.

He loved the moments when his judgments were quick and decisive. When he didn't have to think about the fact that he was condemning 'bots to death by simply not tending them – by judging them too far damaged to be able to save when there were others so close to death that could be saved.

~To be the bad man~

Ratchet didn't recharge as often as he should, and it wasn't always because he was too busy for it, or that he had simply been too caught up in some task that he had forgotten, or any of the excuses he liked to give. It was because he couldn't deal with the dreams.

When he recharged he could hear the voice of every 'bot that ever died in his med bay. He relived the moments when he chose not to save one of them, or when he made some foolish mistake that had cost them their spark. There was just too much of it and he couldn't deal with it.

The benefit was that he was always there when someone needed him, and he was always there to make the hard decisions that his underlings just couldn't. At least he could spare them some of the tortures of being a medic in the middle of a war.

He was also there when the worst of all things happened – when a 'bot they thought was stable turned out to not be strong enough to pull through, or when the entire unit returned near death, with very little hope of saving any of them.

~To be the sad man~

Of all the 'bots on the planet, Ratchet was the one that knew all the others better than any could imagine. It wasn't just that he knew their inner workings and their glitches – it was because they all came to him, at some point or another, pleading for help.

He knew Optimus hated what he had become, hated that he was only driving the war on because he didn't know how else to stop it.

He knew Sunstreaker was far kinder than anyone would ever believe, and that the mech hated to see others hurting inside.

He knew that Sideswipe wasn't completely sane, that he had built a protective barrier of childlike games instead of facing the truth of war and that his only goal in life was to make his brother smile again.

He knew Prowl's fear of becoming too attached to anyone, that he was terrified of losing those close to him, and just how attached to some he had become.

He knew Ironhide's loyalty to Optimus was born of his own sense of weakness, his sense of helplessness in all of this. The mech would always stand beside their leader, would always be his friend, but would always blame Optimus for the war they fought.

He knew about Jazz's impairment – he treated him for it often enough – but he also knew that Jazz would deny it to the darkest depths of the Pit before he let anyone else know he couldn't see. He knew the mech was terrified of being useless because of it, and that was mostly what drove him to be good at what he did.

Most of all, he knew himself. He knew that while the others fought for the 'greater cause', he simply fought to find one. Especially on an orn like this when he sat looking over all of his beloved friends and comrades as they fought for recovery from their 'successful' mission to destroy the Decepticon's energon reserves.

~Behind blue eyes~

…

~End~


End file.
